


Distance Over Time

by Tabithian



Series: Light the Path [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick's managed to survive another year of doing his best to get himself killed, so Jason decides the idiot needs to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance Over Time

**Author's Note:**

> writeroffates asked for JayDick and road trips, so. :D

Dick's managed to survive another year of doing his best to get himself killed, so Jason decides the idiot needs to celebrate. 

And also, maybe, Jason needs to take a step back from remembering all the awesome ways Dick nearly did himself in the name of being a big damn hero by getting out of Gotham for a while. Remember there's color in the world beyond Gotham's dreary palette.

“Jason - “ 

“Tim slipped me the keys,” Jason say, leaning against one of Bruce's fancy little cars. 

Shiny. 

Fast.

Costs what normal people would consider to be obscene, and to top it all off, the car's a beautiful shade of red that's pretty much guaranteed to get them pulled over at least once. 

“We can't, Bruce,” Dick is saying with his mouth, but his eyes, and okay, yes, his damn hands, are all over the car, and. 

Yeah, Jason will go with that.

“Alfred packed us a lunch.”

“What?”

“Get in loser, we're going road tripping.”

********

There isn't an actual plan here, just pick a direction drive, drive, drive until they have to stop for the night. Get a crappy little motel room someone's probably been horribly murdered in and stay alive until the next morning where they'll do the same thing all over again until they've had enough. (Or hit the ocean, given what direction they decide on.)

Tim had _looked_ at him, when Jason told him as much when he went to get the keys to the car, and sighed.

Had handed Jason the keys and a discreet little black card. ( _For when one of you needs to bail the other one out of jail. Or whatever. I don't know, don't call me. I don't want to have to explain any of this to Bruce, don't you dare make me, Jason._ )

An hour after that, Jason staring around the apartment he shares with Dick trying to decide what counted as actual life or death essentials when not fighting crime, Tim had sent him an email.

  
_Jason -_

_To keep you from killing each other. :D_

_[Roadside America](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/) _

_\- Tim_

********

Dick falls asleep before they even hit the county line. Snoring, drooling, generally being a fucking mess, so Jason decides what the hell.

“Hey jackass,” Jason says, shoves at Dick's shoulder. “Want to see something cool?”

There's a really fucking disturbing snorting-snore _thing_ that happens in response, and Jason.

“All right then, Atlantic City here we come.”

********

They get two speeding tickets within an hour of each other and Jason carefully, _considerately_ , folds them up and puts them away in the glove box to give to Bruce when they get back.

The third time he sees flashing lights in the rear-view mirror he decides the hell with it and outruns the poor state trooper trying to pull them over.

“Jason?”

“Go back to sleep, I'll wake you up when we get there.”

********

True to his word, Jason shakes Dick awake when they pull into a parking space at their first destination.

“What are we doing here?” Dick asks, staring in what seems to be a mingled sort of horror and fascination.

Jason looks at him with what's meant to be pity, but probably comes off more as sadistic delight.

“It's [an elephant made out of jellybeans](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/17719), Dick. What do you think we're doing here?”

********

And on and on it goes, Dick darting little looks at Jason wondering at his current state of crazy as they go in search of the most fantastic kitschy roadside attractions Atlantic City has to offer.

They go see things like [a used towel of Frank Sinatra's](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/9325) that's been enshrined in a sub shop, the [Jersey Devil's skeleton](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/865) at a Ripley's Believe it or Not!, and then spend an hour wandering the Boardwalk until they find the [Mr. Peanut statue](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/865).

“That's. Wow,” Dick says, speechless.

“I know, right? Get over here, we need to take pictures of ourselves with it to send back tot everyone in Gotham.”

Dick stares at him.

“Why?”

Jason rolls his eyes and waggles the camera at him. “Why the hell not?”

********

They get a crappy little motel room a few hours out of Atlantic City, Dick looking through the photos they'd taken that day.

“What are we doing?” Dick asks, when Jason puts the car in park. “I mean.”

Dick holds the camera up, shows Jason the picture of Dick and him next to the Mr. Peanut statue doing a typical touristy pose.

Jason stares at the motel, watches the flickering neon sign, letters burned out to add to that whole horror movie atmosphere the place has going on.

“Not getting shot at,” he says, too tired to be anything but honest. “Or stabbed, or punched in the face, or, hey, I don't know, fucking being thrown off buildings.”

A pause.

“Or into them.”

He could go on, but Dick's watching him.

“I don't fucking know, Dick,” Jason says, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I thought it might be nice if we weren't actively trying to get ourselves killed for a little while. Mix things up a bit.”

“Jason,” Dick says, careful.

Jason closes his eyes, waits for it - 

“What are your feelings on giant metal dinosaur skeletons?”

It takes a moment for that to process, Jason's mind shifting gears with agonizing slowness.

“What?”

“There's a [giant metal dinosaur skeleton in Duanesburg, New York](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/17773),” Dick says, like he's reading something. “Sounds pretty cool.”

When Jason looks over, he sees Dick paying far too much attention than is actually necessary to the tablet Tim had stashed in the car's glove box.

“It's what, maybe an hour away? We could go see it in the morning.”

Jason.

“You're assuming we're not going to be horribly murdered in our sleep,” Jason says, waves a hand at the menacing looking trees behind the motel, the way half of the lights in the parking lot are burned out creating eerie shadows. “I mean, come on, look at this place.”

Peeling paint and boarded up windows in some of the rooms, black trash bags taped up over one of the motel office's windows. There are only two other cars in the parking lot besides theirs.

A goddamn dog barking in the distance, as if that wasn't enough.

Dick grins, looks over at Jason. 

“Hey,” he says like the asshole he is, the one that has to fucking push his luck every damn chance he gets. “What could possibly go wrong?”

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently the Mr. Peanut statue is gone now, but for this fic let's imagine these dorks got to see it before then. 
> 
> *hands*
> 
>  
> 
> Psst! 
> 
>  
> 
> [One Day Here and the Next Day Gone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5792380)


End file.
